02
995 Words
02
Hannah’s POV
“Breathe…” Nolan rubbed my back. I was hunched over the toilet seat as I emptied my guts. I leaned back on the floor while Nolan sat on the edge of the tub.
“I’m dead, Nolan,” I whispered. He didn’t answer. Just pulled me into his arms and ran a hand through my tangled hair.
He shushed me. “You’re not dead, H. They just didn’t find you. They miss you.”
“How do you know that?” I cried.
After the shock from the news, I broke down into tears. And then, I rushed to throw up. It was hard to believe that I had a family who could summon reporters.
It made me wonder what those reporters were doing when I was ‘missing’. If my funeral could make it to TV, how come the search for me didn’t?
“Three months, H. They waited three months for you to show up.”
I guess it made sense. But I couldn’t stop the helplessness I felt. It was my life, yet I had no semblance of control.
We stayed quiet. Nolan held me while I cried. They were tears of confusion, despair… and hope.
From the news, the funeral was happening in New York. Which meant, I was a New Yorker. I had no idea if I was one by birth though.
And here I was… in Portugal.
“So what now?” I asked with a sniff. God, I was a mess. I scrubbed at my face with the back of my hand.
Nolan sighed. “We get you fed, and rested. You don’t have to do anything right now.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. That sounded like the perfect option. My heart was not ready. This ‘family’ were strangers to me.
“Okay.” I nodded.
Nolan helped me to my feet, and to my room. He brought the half eaten take outs, fed me and cuddled me to sleep.
***
An hour later, Nolan breathed behind me. His forearms tightened across my chest. I blinked my eyes open.
The words from the TV played in my mind. It felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. And I stayed in Nolan’s embrace. Quiet. Thoughtful.
We both knew that the right thing to do was to call home. But my home was no longer there. It was with Nolan. At the same time, it was pure torture to put my family through that loss. It wouldn’t be fair. To any of us.
What would it mean for me, though?
My heart grew heavy as I made up my mind.
“I know you’re awake,” Nolan said quietly. The moment felt nostalgic. Sad. There was an unspoken but glaring finality to what we had…. But we struggled to accept it.
“I am,” I replied then rolled over to face him. His thumb brushed my brows, and traced my features.
He smiled. It was wistful but I could see the hope he tried to hold onto in his eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m torn between doing what I should, and just staying here.”
“Do you think you can do both? Call them, and still stay?” His voice cracked at the end. And my eyes stung with tears.
My lips wobbled. “I don’t know. New York is pretty far.”
He gave a watery laugh. “It is. I never thought you were a New Yorker though.”
“What did you think?” I asked.
We were stalling. And we both knew it. We were trying to beat time at its own game. But who said I had to make a decision today… or tomorrow?
He grinned. “With all this thick black hair, and those full lips? Definitely Spanish.”
“Really? Spanish?” I nudged his chest, laughing. He nodded.
“When we got the call from the hospital in Spain,” he said, “they didn’t expect you to survive the transfer. You were airlifted here because you needed emergency neurosurgery.”
He reenacted the story again to me. How they’d found me in Spain, and flown me to Portugal. And how they all thought it was a miracle that I still had a pulse.
“Come on, you can use my laptop,” he said with a small smile and his lips brushed my temple.“Let’s see your family.”
We untangled ourselves from each other like people who knew it was time.
I sat in front of his laptop, and he stood beside me. We searched the name Hannah Freida Miller… and I found myself staring at my face. And my family.
“I knew this tattoo meant something,” Nolan suddenly said. “Hannah,” he breathed. My name rolled off his lips effortlessly.
My name was Hannah Freida Miller.
Is. My name is Hannah.
We looked at photos and more photos. Turns out my family were billionaires. I was a billionaire.
Nolan whistled. “You definitely have a trust fund.”
I squeezed his hands in appreciation. His effort to play this situation lightly, was graceful. It soothed the panic in my chest.
“I think it’s time I called them,” I said after having gone through all the photos. Nolan nodded in agreement.
There was no phone number. Just an email address. So Nolan helped me type out a quick email and he attached a photo of myself.
“Hello, Mr and Mrs Miller. I’m Nolan Hayne, and I believe this is your daughter.” The email read. It was short, and straight to the point.
“Send?” Nolan asked. My heart stuttered and I pressed my lips together.
I nodded. “Send.”
He hit the send button. And in less than three minutes, we got a response.
- Writer
